And By the Love of Him Also
by Nightdew
Summary: When Aragorn decides to travel to the sea for his health, Legolas seems the perfect companion. But why is he becoming so strange and withdrawn? Just what is he risking for Aragorn's sake?
1. Chapter 1

This is, in my opinion, the best LOTR fanfic I ever wrote. That is to say, I actually got the plot right! I hope you like it. I wrote it after I thought I had given up fanfic, but part of the plot came to me in a dream, so I just had to write it. I think the Aragorn in the story may owe more to other people's fanfics than to the actual book, but there you go.

* * *

**And by the love of him also.**

_"I was held to the road only by the will of Aragorn."_

_"And by the love of him also," said Legolas. "For all those who come to know him come to love him after his own fashion."_

_"The Last Debate", The Return of the King. LOTR p. 908 (London: Harper Collins, 1993 edition)_

Chapter 1.

Éomer was failing. He had not said as much, but Aragorn knew it. He looked now much as Théoden had looked when the remnants of the Fellowship had first entered the Golden Hall. He might last another winter in good weather, but already Elfwine was taking much responsibility in Rohan. When the two kings had last met, Éomer had talked of sending for Master Holdwine, as he called Merry. Yes, that would be good, thought Aragorn. He longed to see Merry and Pippin again, especially now that Sam was gone. Only now they would be old, too. They were all old – Éomer, Faramir, even Éowyn. It burned his heart to think how young and strong they had been when they had all fought together in this very place. It was part of the curse and blessing of his Dúnedain heritage. He would outlive them all.

He looked out over the city walls across the Pelennor Fields. The clouds were flying across the sky in the spring breeze. It was a beautiful day, if a little cold. He cleared his throat and coughed slightly. He had better make an infusion of lime flowers. The illness he had suffered this winter had been harsh and did not bear repeating. It had been the first time since childhood that he had succumbed like this and he had seen it in Arwen's eyes – the fear of mortality. But, no, there was nothing for her to fear. He had many, many years ahead of him. It seemed he had proved that to her too this winter, he thought with a smile.

"Of what do you dream, Estel?"

He turned to his wife, still smiling, as she entered the garden behind him. The light of the Evenstar would never fail or fade. She was his star of hope.

"I dream of you, _melleth_."

He coughed again. Tiny furrows appeared between Arwen's flawless eyes.

"That cough is slow to heal, Estel. I am not happy. You should take the sea air somewhere."

"Pelargir!" His eyes twinkled. "I know some excellent taverns there."

"I do not send you to the sea for the good of your lungs to have you corrupt them in a tavern smoke-room."

She knew he was only joking. He did not smoke much now anyway, only when he missed Bree and the Shire. However, he still liked to drop in on taverns, cloaked and hooded. It kept him in better contact with his people than he often was here in the White City. He enjoyed sending little messages afterwards: _the King finds your ale most agreeable_. He laughed, inwardly. Perhaps not Pelargir.

"Dol Amroth, then?"

It was a beautiful city. Imrahil was dead now, but his son kept a fine court with the grace one could only expect from elven heritage. If he dared to say there was a more beautiful city than Minas Tirith, it would be Dol Amroth.

Arwen nodded.

"Shall I come with you?"

"I had rather you stayed," he said, "although the Warden has no idea how your condition is treated in an Elf."

"It is not treated in an Elf!" Her laughter was like the music of waterfalls. "But I will stay if it brings you peace."

He gently put a hand over her womb. She always brought him peace. And now she brought the future as well. Death and life. Such was the way of things.

He did want her to stay. But he did not really want to go to Dol Amroth without a companion. It now made him sadder than ever that all his old friends were so – old. To ride out together again would be wonderful, a better cure than any sea breeze. Of course, he thought to himself. Legolas. Legolas was not old. That is to say, of course he was old, older than all of them. Sometimes the wisdom in his eyes now was frightening. It reminded him of the Elvenking, Thranduil, although he did not imagine his friend would thank him for the comparison. He had tried to do all things in Ithilien as unlike his father as possible. But there was no weariness of age on Legolas. His was the life of the Eldar. He would go on in the strength of youth when Aragorn rested with his fathers.

Legolas. It was a long time since Aragorn had seen his elven friend. The People of the Wood did not come to the city as much as they had in the early years. He knew the Elf often rode to Rohan to see Gimli but, apart from that, he mostly remained under the trees, hidden from the sight of most Men, Aragorn imagined. Yes. He would send for Legolas. They would ride out together and enjoy fellowship once more.

"Estel?"

He had not realised how his mind had wandered.

"Forgive me, _melleth_. Shall we go indoors?"

He took her arm and walked under the archway, feeling suddenly peaceful. He would send for Legolas this afternoon.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2.

It was raining the day Legolas arrived. The vibrant smell of new foliage rose from his cloak as he embraced his old friend.

"It is wonderful to see you, _mellon nîn_!" said Aragorn.

"Likewise."

His keen eyes scanned Aragorn's face, no doubt noting the increase in grey hairs and lines carved by joy and sorrow.

"You have been ill, my friend?" said Legolas.

"It was nothing." He shrugged.

Legolas glanced back at Arwen, who stood by the table of dainties the servants had prepared. When he turned back, he said nothing, but his eyes told Aragorn that he did not believe his friend's dismissal.

"Nothing," he repeated. "Just a slight cough. Arwen thinks I should take the sea air."

"You should." Legolas nodded, earnestly.

"And I think you should come with me."

"Estel!" Arwen's voice chimed from the back of the room. "Let Legolas at least remove his cloak and sit to table before we have any discussions."

Legolas raised his eyebrows, slyly. _There is no need for that, Master Elf. I am still the King_, thought Aragorn. But he sat to table.

They had eaten as much as they could when Aragorn broached the subject again.

"So, I am thinking of a trip to Dol Amroth," he was saying, "and I would be honoured if you would come with me."

"Nothing would please me more than to go among the children of Nimrodel," said Legolas.

He saw Arwen catch Legolas' eye. Her own dove's eyes seemed to flash urgent rays of starlight. Legolas shook his head ever so slightly. He had suspected some time ago that his wife and friend could now communicate without words. Elves reached a certain age and seemed to dispense with the need for spoken language. He had seen it many times. And it was not so much that he was jealous. Well, yes he was. It frustrated him that, despite his huge identification with the Firstborn, there were still some things that left him on the outside, and it did spark a few pangs that Legolas had an intimacy with his wife that he could not share. But that was all. Except for, as now, when it seemed almost rude of them to keep their thoughts from him. What had Arwen said?

"It will not trouble you to go so near the sea, Legolas?" he said.

The Elf did not often speak of his sea-longing. Aragorn was unsure how it affected him. But Legolas patted his hand in a reassuring way.

"I am very happy to go with you, Aragorn."

Aragorn was glad. It would be a good trip.

#

"You will be gentle with Legolas, won't you?" said Arwen in bed that night. "He is not invincible."

"Which translates as, _remember this trip is for the good of your health, Estel. Don't overdo it_."

Arwen gently stroked the small of his back.

"Just remember," she said.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3.

They rode at an easy pace. The weather was mild and the fields of Lebennin were as green and as flower-strewn as in the old song that Legolas knew. Fording the streams was something of a challenge in the spring floods, but for two such as they it was one easily met. They made camp as simply as possible. Of course, there had to be at least a small retinue. The High King of Gondor and Arnor did not ride into Dol Amroth unannounced. But there was enough friendly talk and song by the campfire to make Aragorn feel that the days were at least partly renewed. He felt refreshed already, just by being in the open field again. He slept so much better under the stars.

"This is magnificent," he said, looking up at the glittering sky. "Like the tranquil skies of Lórien the fair. Do you remember, Legolas?"

"By the musical falls of Nimrodel. Yes." And the Elf began to sing in his soft voice.

_An Elven maid there was of old,_

_A shining star by day:_

_Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,_

_Her shoes of silver- grey._

_A star was bound upon her brows,_

_A light was on her hair_

_As sun upon the golden boughs_

_In Lórien the fair._

As long as Aragorn had known him, Legolas had been fascinated with the tale of Amroth and Nimrodel. The beauty and tragedy of the white maiden lost in the woods, severed from her lover, seemed to touch a cord in his heart nothing else could. Perhaps it went some way to explaining why he had never had a love of his own. Aragorn liked to think so. Personally, he would have preferred something with a slightly happier ending, but that was the Elves for you.

The elven ship in haven grey

_Beneath the mountain-lee_

_Awaited her for many a day_

_Beside the roaring sea._

_A wind by night in Northern lands_

_Arose, and loud it cried,_

_And drove the ship from elven-strands_

_Across the streaming tide._

The song faded, suddenly.

"I don't know why you always sing that song, Legolas," said Aragorn. "You never manage to finish it."

"To see the look on your face when I do. Is it not time you sought your blanket, Aragorn?"

"Are you a warrior or a nursemaid?" He looked at his friend in disgust.

Legolas gave that superior look he sometimes had. "Just a friend."

Aragorn laughed. "Very well. Arwen has primed you well. But tomorrow we shall feast until dawn!"

And they did. But Aragorn found that the next night he wanted at least half a night of rest. And, by the third night, Legolas did not seem as well disposed to late night talking as he had when the trip began. Aragorn thought he seemed strangely silent, although he replied cheerfully enough to anything his friend said. Perhaps he was imagining it, although Aragorn thought he knew his friend better than that.

"Is everything well, Legolas?"

"Of course, Aragorn. Everything is well. See, Dol Amroth is on the horizon. We shall be there soon, and the Swan Knights will raise the blue banner for the coming of their King."

"Alas, my good Legolas, I will have to wait until morning until I can see it. But if you are certain all is well…"

"Now who is the nursemaid?" Legolas smiled. "Goodnight, Aragorn."

He stood to his feet as Aragorn lay down. Probably he would be singing to Elbereth long after the rest of the camp had turned to dream. Only Aragorn thought that, as his friend turned away, he caught a look of painful agony in his fair features. But then it was gone.

He must have dreamt of Amroth that night. In the cold small hours, he thought he could hear the Elf-lord of old crying for his love as he dived into the stormy waves. But the next thing he knew it was dawn and the birds were singing in the trees and Legolas was sitting at the shelter's entrance with his face to the sun.

* * *

Elven song: Tolkien, JRR _Lord of the Rings_ p. 358 (London: Harper Collins, 1993 edition) _The Fellowship of the Ring_ George Allen & Unwin 1954, 1966.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

Tirith Aear was glittering with reflections flung up from the sea far beneath it, as they rode up to meet it in the late afternoon sun. The silver swan and the white ship rippled on its banners. On its steps stood a tall figure, regal and dark-haired, with eyes of deep grey, and behind him many tall, dark-haired knights.

"Welcome, King Elessar!" said the Prince of Dol Amroth, bowing his head as Aragorn approached. Aragorn lowered his own head in compliment, and Legolas bent the knee in reverence for the heirs of his sylvan race.

"It is our honour to entertain you," the Prince continued, "and your companion of the Fair Folk, of whom my father always spoke so highly. We have rooms prepared for you, and also feasting and song, if it should please you. Speak but the word. Your wish is our command."

"Feasting and song will do very well. What say you, Legolas?"

He looked to the Elf. Legolas' glittering eyes seemed distant. Aragorn was not sure he had even heard the question.

"Legolas?"

"Feasting and song. Yes. You are most gracious."

He made some sylvan courtesy that even Aragorn did not know. Again, the moment had passed, but Aragorn began to feel troubled. Perhaps he should not so readily have turned in at the camp. Legolas was never so unresponsive. But the knights of Dol Amroth led them into the castle and he was forced to put the matter behind him.

The feast was sumptuous. And the minstrelsy was clearly inspired. Legolas' instinct that the Swan Knights truly were the people of Amroth was surely justified. They sang of the War of the Ring, of course. It was only natural. The descriptions of the March of the Ents was so stirring, so moving, Aragorn could almost feel the eyes of the Huorns looking into his again. He looked around to see Legolas' reaction, but his friend was only standing against the wall, staring blankly ahead. This was not right. For the first time, Aragorn noted with concern how pale the Elf looked. True, he was always pale, but now there was a greyish tinge to him that dulled his natural glow. With growing horror, Aragorn watched as Legolas put a hand to his mouth and covered a yawn. Never in his life had he seen an Elf yawn. Could it be that Legolas was unwell? He had never seen that in an Elf, either.

"Legolas?"

He had crossed the room and was plucking gently at his friend's sleeve. Legolas turned his head.

"Aragorn?" he said, absently.

"Perhaps I should see about your chamber. You seem a little…"

He was unsure how to put it. He didn't want to damage the Elf's pride, but that yawn had really worried him. Legolas gave a barely audible sigh.

"Thank you, Aragorn, but that won't be necessary."

"Legolas!"

He wanted to grab his friend by the shoulders and shake him but, if it came to blows, an Elf would easily floor a man of his age, and his bones did not heal as quickly as they once did.

"Legolas." He tried to control his voice. "I am concerned for you. You do not seem – as you should be. I will ask about your chamber."

"Thank you, Aragorn, but I will not be needing a chamber as I will not be sleeping."

"You need to sleep."

But Legolas did not need to sleep. Aragorn had seen him awake first every day when they were on their quest. He had been aware of him walking though the watches of the night when even he had been forced to close his eyes. He had seen him resting his mind in Elven dream while running in the forest. There was no reason for him to look as he now did. But if he had not slept at all…

"When did you last sleep?" he said.

"Lossarnach."

"But you have dreamed?"

Legolas looked away.

"No," he said.

No? Dreams and song were food and drink to the Elves. Aragorn was not sure if they could reasonably live without them. Legolas stifled another yawn. Pangs of worry stabbed at Aragorn's gut. The healer instinct in him made him take his friend's hand in both of his.

"You're so cold," he said, shocked.

"Aragorn." Legolas was factual but weary. "You are wed to one of the Eldar. We are cold of blood."

"Not this cold."

Legolas was keeping something from him. It was a thing he did not expect after their years of friendship, and it hurt. Still, he could not force a confidence any more than he could force Legolas to take a chamber. But there was one thing he could perhaps persuade him to, the one other thing he knew of that could soothe a weary Elf as well as sleep.

"Let us go outside and see what the stars are doing," he said.

It was a glorious night. The sky was utterly cloudless and the stars were sprinkled across it like silver dust. The Sickle of the Valar gleamed as if Varda herself had run a finger along it. It was like so many nights Aragorn remembered from Eriador, keeping watch by a lonely campfire; longing for the only star he had ever wanted to light his path.

"_A Elbereth Gilthoniel!_" sighed Legolas. "_O menel aglar elenath!_"

Aragorn permitted a slight smile and drew in a deep breath of night air. The breeze blew over his shoulder towards the Bay of Belfalas. If he listened carefully, he could probably hear the rhythmic hushing of the waves on the shore.

_"Fanuilos le linnathon, nef aear, sí nef aearon._"

There was a catch in the Elf's voice that made Aragorn look round suddenly. Legolas was shaking. He was actually shaking.

"Legolas?"

No reply.

_Don't do this to me, Legolas,_ thought Aragorn. _Don't do this to yourself, whatever it is._

"Is it the sea?"

As the words left his mouth, he felt in his heart that he was right. He had not understood the sea-longing enough, despite having read it in the eyes of countless Elves in Rivendell. For him, the ancient West was part of a noble heritage, tainted yes, but also glorious with the history of Elves and Men who made up his blood. For Legolas, it was his destiny, and Aragorn was beginning to realise that his friend was desperately trying to suppress something and was suffering greatly for it. And he did not want Aragorn to see.

"Legolas, please speak to me."

"Goodnight, Aragorn."

His heart sank like a stone. Was there nothing the Elf would let him do?

"Legolas…"

"Goodnight, Aragorn."

There was no choice but to walk away.

* * *

Elven hymn to Elbereth, Tolkien, JRR, _The Lord of the Rings _p.254 (London: Harper Collins, 1993 edition) _The Fellowship of the Ring _1954, 1966, George Allen & Unwin


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5.

Aragorn could not sleep. He had never needed much sleep anyway. Years of training as a Ranger had seen to that. And, as a King, he had often walked hand-in-hand with Arwen in the moonlit gardens until the morning star had arisen.

Arwen. She had known. She had told him that night in bed and he had not understood her. But why had she not corrected him there and then? But he knew the answer. Those hidden looks between his wife and his friend. Arwen knew what Legolas would suffer coming to Dol Amroth, but he had begged her not to speak of it. Besides that, it was in the elven nature to speak in riddles rather than plainly. It was part of why he loved her. Why he loved Legolas.

And in what ways was Legolas torturing himself now? He had not dreamed. How powerful must his dreams be if he feared to face them? Aragorn wondered if the sea-longing was always like this or if it really did get worse nearer the coast. He wondered how much of a strain it was on Legolas to remain in Middle-earth as the years went by. How long could an Elf survive without dreaming? He should not have come to bed. He sat up and began to pull his boots on. Legolas could be damnably stubborn sometimes. He wasn't going to let him go on like this. The Elf had to accept his help.

There was a knock at the chamber door. Aragorn was there in an instant. The messenger boy's face was white and he was trembling.

"Your majesty. I have been sent to tell you…"

"Legolas!" Aragorn snatched the candle from the boy's hand. "Where is he?"

"Your majesty, the guards found the Elf-lord by the rocks. He is not moving. They do not know if he wakes or sleeps or if he…"

Aragorn was running down the corridor. His heart was beating like a hammer as he went down and down the many steps. Guards were waiting for him as he reached the main gates.

"This way, my Lord. Quickly."

He was still gripping the candle. It sputtered in the night breeze as he followed the guards across the craggy cliff tops. Their voices were calling to each other above the sound of the crashing waves.

_Legolas, what have you done?_ thought Aragorn.

"King Elessar! Here!"

He brought the candle down to the Elf's face. His huge, bright eyes were wide and unresponsive. His skin was terribly blanched. Aragorn put two fingers to his neck. The pulse was there but he was cold, so cold, like the terrible snows of Mount Caradhras.

"Take him to my chamber!" he ordered. "Be gentle."

It seemed like there were hundreds of them, swarming around him as he followed Legolas back up the stairs.

"My Lord King. What can I do?"

The Prince had a hand on his shoulder.

"Just have men stand by," he said.

They had reached the chamber door. The guards were laying Legolas on the bed, as tenderly as if he were a sleeping baby.

"What do you need now, my Lord?" said one. "What shall we bring?"

He didn't know. He needed space to think

"Wait outside the room," he said. "Wait on my command."

He turned back towards the bed where Legolas lay, trembling ever so slightly. No light came from him at all. Had Aragorn blown out the candle, the room would have been in utter darkness.

The hands of a king are the hands of a healer, he told himself. Had it been any of his subjects on the bed now – anyone from Faramir to the tiny girl who had given the Queen flowers last week – he would have felt confident of his abilities. But was any mortal qualified to deal with the ailments of the Firstborn? If only Arwen were there. Perhaps he should send to Ithilien for some Wood-elves. No. It would never do for them to see their lord in this state.

Elves could die of broken hearts. He knew the lore of the First Age well enough for that. Their bodies and minds were strong, but so were their passions. And how well he knew that, too. Legolas had let himself come within touching distance of his heart's desire and suppressed it. He was breaking his own heart.

_You stubborn fool!_ he wanted to shout out. But Legolas was no fool. Tears filled his eyes because he knew the truth. _He did it for me_, he thought. _Because I was ill. Because I was his friend._

No. He could not allow tears to take over. He sniffed them back and cleared his thoughts. Then he opened the door.

"Fetch me dried lavender," he said. "Light the fire. And cut as many fresh boughs as you can find and bring them here. Bring them all here. Hurry."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

The lavender was burning in the fire. The chamber was heavy with its calming aroma. The spring greenery hung about the head of the bed, its new tendrils curling down onto Legolas' cheekbone. Aragorn took his hand. It was like ice. It almost burned to the touch. He scowled and swallowed back the lump in his throat.

"Don't go, Legolas," he whispered, fiercely. "Not like this."

If he could just get the Elf to relax, to allow his mind to walk in the healing valley of dream… If he could bring dreams to him that took him away from the sea and the call of Eressëa, just for now, then maybe he could revive him.

"Legolas. It is I, Aragorn," he heard himself say. "I am going to take you on a journey. Now breathe with me. Slowly. In. Out."

The Elf was still shaking, stiffly, his breathing ragged. _How is he doing this? _thought Aragorn. _How can you hold back your dreams and feelings when your body has come to the edge of its limits?_

"Slowly, very slowly. Deep breath in. Good. Let it out. Let it all out. And again. Can you smell the new leaves, Legolas? We are going into the forest. We are going under the canopy of the beech and the elm. Can you feel the seeds under your feet? We are going to the glade in the Woodland Realm, your glade. We are going to find your home in the trees. The leaves are reaching down to you. They are new. They are green. Touch them. Hear the voices of the trees you love. Their hearts are open towards you. They wish to speak with you. Speak to them, Legolas. Touch their hearts."

He looked down at Legolas' face. His eyes had mellowed. There was the faintest glow rising from him. He was dreaming.

Aragorn sobbed, suddenly. He was dreaming. There was hope. He began to stroke the Elf's cold hand gently and to sing quiet songs of the woodland, the kind he had learned in Lórien. He watched him glow softly through the tears that would keep coming to his eyes, however much he blinked them away. He watched until the candle burned away and the fire died to almost nothing and the daylight began to come in at the window.

Legolas stirred and made a soft noise. Aragorn sat up straight and flexed his aching shoulders. The Elf was awake. He glanced around at the branches hanging above him and the candle, which had now melted all over the table, and the fading embers of the scented fire. Then he looked up at Aragorn with his bright eyes, grey-blue as the sea itself. And Aragorn did not need the gift of the Elves to understand what that look meant. The eyes of his friend said _thank you_.

"Legolas…"

The tears had taken his voice. He cleared his throat.

"You really should do something about that cough, Aragorn," said Legolas, weakly. "I suggest a trip to the sea."

He laughed, but it was a laughter akin with crying, and he couldn't stop the tears he had wanted to shed all night from rolling down his cheeks.

"You look exhausted," Legolas continued. "You should get some sleep."

The seagulls had begun to cry outside. Aragorn shook his head. He could not risk it. His cure had worked for now, but it was too soon. Too soon.

"There is no need to worry, Aragorn. I will still be here."

Yes. That was the assurance Legolas had fought to give his friend all these years. That was what he had looked for when he acceded the throne, uncertain that he could do this, knowing that he could not do it alone. And they had all stuck by him, all his friends, as long as they possibly could. Or impossibly could. Just what had Legolas sacrificed so that Aragorn could know he would still be there every day of his life?

Legolas began to stroke Aragorn's hand with his cold fingers.

"Close your eyes, Aragorn. You are walking on Cerin Amroth beneath the starry host. The elanor and niphredil bloom at your feet, and Arwen is with you…"


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7.

He had not thought it was possible for him to sleep so long, but the sun was high in the sky when he opened his eyes. For some reason, he was now on the bed and the Elf was sleeping in the window frame. Someone should tell the Prince that all would now be well. How could he have been so remiss? He got up and hurried from the chamber.

When he got back, Legolas was sitting up cross-legged on the bed.

"The trees spoke to me, Aragorn," he said. "In my dream. The old things of this world have a wisdom beyond that even that of the Elves. They told me I should give in to my longing."

Aragorn's heart went cold. He knew this was the only way. He had even thought of suggesting it. But it was such a hard thing to take when the moment came.

"I have been too selfish, Legolas," he said. "You must go. I will ask the men of Dol Amroth to give you one of their ships."

"You will do nothing of the sort. You know full well the ships of mortals cannot sail the Straight Road. Besides, you misunderstand me. I do not mean to sail right now."

"Then I am afraid I do not understand you at all, my dear Legolas. If you do not sail, I think we should ride for Minas Tirith tomorrow."

"We are not leaving Dol Amroth until your cough is better."

"It is better."

"Which is why you were hacking away in the corridor, I presume?"

Aragorn grunted. Nothing escaped Elven hearing.

Legolas smiled, enigmatically.

"I would like to go to Edhellond. Will you come with me this afternoon?"

#

The Elf haven of the south was long-since deserted and its majestic buildings were fast crumbling into ruin, but it was still breathtaking in the spring afternoon as Legolas and Aragorn stood in the estuary bay.

"These harbours still remember them," said Legolas, softly, "the Elves of Lórien who took refuge here."

It had seemed amazing to the knights of Dol Amroth that Legolas could ride out with such vigour after the horrors of the previous night. But Aragorn knew the resilience of the Firstborn, and also that Legolas had been suffering in his heart, not his body. Here, he began to understand, Legolas intended to make his peace with the sea and with those of his kindred who had gone before him.

The sea was at mid-tide. Legolas removed his shoes and tunic, and waded in, letting the waves wash over him. There was wonder in his bright eyes at his first encounter with the ocean. Aragorn stood and watched, his hair whipping about his temples. He would have loved a bracing swim in the sea himself, but he knew that his friend was not just swimming, and it would not be appropriate for him to join in. From the shore, the Elf's figure became smaller. He white body, seemingly as soft and fair as a woman's, although actually tougher than that of the strongest mortal warrior, surrendered itself to the same waves that had taken Amroth long ago. There was such trust, such peace. All the stiffness and suppression was gone. Aragorn's eyes crinkled with pride as Legolas came back, his golden hair gleaming wet. It could not have been easy for his friend to come here, but it had been the right thing to do. The Elf's eyes as he approached were sad and dreamy, but there was no pain in them.

"I hear their voices calling to me across the waves. The voices of those who stand on the further shore," he said.

"All of them?" Aragorn almost forgot himself in longing for the loved ones he would never see. "Elrond and Gandalf and Frodo and Sam?"

"They are all there." Legolas' melodious voice was calm and peaceful. "They have made things ready for me. But they can wait a long time yet, as you deem it. There are no months or years to count in the Blessed Realm."

"You gladden my heart, Legolas."

He hoped the Elf gladdened his own.

"Where now?" he said, as Legolas buttoned his tunic and shook out his wet hair.

"Back to our hosts. I think I will take that chamber after all."

#

Arwen was waiting in their favourite garden when he and Legolas returned to the White City. Aragorn was sure her figure had taken on a fuller and yet more beautiful form in the short time they had been apart. After their first, tender, embrace, he saw her eyes go to those of Legolas again. The peace in her countenance showed that she was satisfied with his answer.

"And you look greatly refreshed, Estel," she said.

"I am," he replied.

"That is well, for I have another visitor for you."

She indicated with her eyes toward an arbour where a silver-haired Dwarf stood, his heavily jewelled belt glinting in the sunlight. _He looks more like Glóin than ever_, Aragorn thought, as Gimli came over and clasped arms with Legolas and then himself.

"A little older, Aragorn," he said, smiling.

"A little wiser, Gimli."

Arwen slipped her arm into the nook of Aragorn's.

"And now if you would all come inside to table." She looked to the Elf and Dwarf. "Aragorn and I have some news to share with you."

#

"And now I suppose he will tell Gimli everything," he said to Arwen in bed. "And you have doubtless had several silent conversations in which I cannot share."

"You do not envy him that, surely. He does not share this."

She did something that made him tingle all over.

"No, _melleth_. Of course not."

He could not rightly envy anything tonight. Everything was right with the world. And he certainly could not grudge Legolas his other friendships after what he had witnessed at Dol Amroth. There was never a man so fortunate as himself. Not in all of Arda.

"But you understand why I could not tell," Arwen continued. "He did it for love of you. For all who know you come to love you after their fashion."

He drew her close.

"And I them."

END


End file.
